poems

status update XLVII

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

sitting comfortably? / then we’ll begin / watch as I fly us closer in…

to a frog in a suit with a fine cigar / waiting on the forecourt for his fancy car / a beetle-chauffeured bentley / wealthy evidently / looking sharp n’flippered / muscle massage, colon lavage, sauna kippered / wallet zipped / bitcoin dipped / faux political / hyper-critical / chthonic, masonic, anti-woke / not the kinda pond-life bloke / who gives two shits or a flying croak / about climate change and the so-called crisis / knows about shares and pushing up prices

watch as I soar away over town / to see what else is going down…

a puppet laughing as he cuts his strings / bored with the bug and everything / Gepetto staggering in with an axe / scared of fairies, scared of facts / out of control, can’t relax / what you might call a little reactionary / the word transitioning missing from his vocabulary / so the whole adventure unrolls inevitably / painfully slowly / lost and lonely / swinging in a cage with a mean Stromboli / pleasure island donkeys, a whale-sized ship / lampwick, screwball, corner pocket / somebody stop it! / hooves for the salt mine, father! father! / trawling the oceans his bug in a lather / but they all get saved / by the gracious wave / of the blond with the wand in the puppet arcade

stay as we brave the city lights / swoop down low from the glitzy heights…

to the Met Gala carpet, everyone arriving / paparazzi climbing / shouting and fighting / a chorus of smiles for the camera lightning / Gosling in a gimp suit, Timothy in a tux / Kardashian in a mashup of Costa coffee cups / and here comes gorgeous Kendall Jenner / in super slacks by Marks n’Spencer / a monkey and a husky / waistcoats by Swarovski / Stormzy performing in a cellophane onesie / and suddenly I’m done / and I’m flying the drone high over everyone

back to reality, back to the pad / the Holy Grail to Sir Galahad / open the window, let it in / set the drone down and plug it in / download the pics – you get the gist / tomorrow it’s yours to do as you wish / get the shots of the shit that I missed / no no I insist / now fuck this flying, let’s get pissed

The Gospel According to Braverman

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I. And Jenrick looked upon the water, and saw the refugees in boats. And it did move him to cry out to God that this was nothing to do with him but was all the fault of those lefty lawyers selling passports in the temple. And he didst act up pretty tough about it, although he had nothing really to say and everyone ignored him, for the embarrassment was real.

II. And Jenrick didst produce a big, blue bible with a monogrammed Thatcher bookmark, and he didst read from it on the beach: I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me water, I was a refugee and you banged me up on the Bibby Stockholm.

III. And Jenrick didst frown upon the government’s international commitments, saying: Blessed are those who act justly, who always do what is right. But even more blessed are those who stir up social division for political ends, and sit on their hands rather than do what’s right. And God didst lean in and say Wait…WHAT? But it was way past the seventh day and God was pretty wiped.

IV. And Jenrick didst not invest money into services that wouldst properly process the refugees, but didst divert much gold on cruel and hopeless schemes into the coffers of party donors. And all the talents and skills and energies of the refugees were cast down, and they didst cry out in idleness, and were sore afraid. And Jenrick said tough – if thou dost not like it, thous can fuck off. And God lent in again saying Don’t Make Me Use The Flood Again. And Jenrick didst say Not another climate protester! And he didst arrest God for causing a public nuisance. And God didst sigh and say Jesus Christ I’m sooo done with this shit.

incident on platform 9

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

speaking philosophically
when did I become me?
at what precise point
did this idiosyncratic joint
of muscle and gristle
separate from the abyssal
plain of endless eternity
in a messy ward in maternity
at the local London infirmary
and eventually become
that certain kinda someone
who, when waving goodbye to a friend at the station and blissfully unaware of the danger,
turns on the spot
and finds himself lost
in the voluminous beard of a stranger

lonesome lurcher blues

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

how loudly stanley lies
overwhelmingly oversized
the opposite of enchanting
railing and ranting
balefully commanding
the awful acoustics of the upstairs landing
doggedly distraught
dismal as an astronaut
who just missed blast-off
flat as a fur coat a countess cast-off
clamorous as a diva
in need of anaesthesia
tossing back a slug of the milk of amnesia
dire as a gloomy, doomy choir
who hired a coach but the coach was a liar
manifestly mourning
like an underpaid pallbearer over-performing
a sad-sack cerberus, gruesomely throwing some
hades-grade shade totally going some
a dog-shaped fog-horn making you aware
of the hazardous drop to the rocky stairs
an amorous yeti lamenting the loss
of another sherpa who didn’t give a toss
howling the blues like a superstar
all he lacks is a hat and guitar
sounding so mournful you gradually well up
and a walk’s the only thing that’ll shut him the hell up

why stanley why

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

why stanley why
do you endlessly strive
to tunnel and dive
nose-first through the sofa cushions
frantically pushin’
slag heaps of stuffin’
in brute pursuit of a canine macguffin
well thanks for nuffin’

your efforts show
those throws we chose
as part of our dog-proofing manifesto
were laughably hopeless
threadbare pet care hocus pocus
cute but unfocused
buying just two of ‘em almost broke us

I mean – c’mon stanley – what’s the rap?
are you REALLY saying dogs can’t nap
without their paws in a dog dug gap
or is it all just strictly business
to see how quickly a dog digs through this
hot dog hubris
why in dog’s name do you DO this?

to what end?
my curious, furious friend
TO WHAT END?

rental cottage write-off

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

a warm and stylish welcome awaits
as you proceed to process through the garden gates
and meander along our landscaped steps
to a delightfully situated, outdoor terrace
recline and relax on artisanal cushions
thoughtfully scattered on seating solutions
kick back with a bottle, admire the view
enjoy conversations with those dearest to you
and when it gets dark and you’ve finally stopped bitchin’
you can stagger inside and trash the kitchen

bored

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m so bored
my brain feels poured
like bubble tea gloop in a head-shaped gourd
wobbly grin
sharpied in
by a man in the pants he partied in

I’m so bored
my soul gets scored
nought out of ten on the ouija board
bad phantasm
defectoplasm
cast way down in a charisma chasm

I’m so bored
my dreams are stored
back of a gothic asylum ward
agitated
barricaded
possibly under-medicated

a lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

‘ees … a lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn
sleeps all day on the undergrahn
riding the escalators up n’ dahn
a lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn

so…

wag yer tail
gnash yer teeth
march on the spot like a hairy chief
if yer see the king
wait a bit
lurchas don’t care ‘baht any of it

‘ees… a lovely lil’ lurcha from Befnal Green
big belly grumblin’ like a washing machine
breath that’ll turn yer a shade o’ green
a lovely lil’ lurcha from Befnal Green

and it’s….

lick yer balls
sniff yer snaht
make a bad smell like a brussel spraht
if yer see a tory
bark and fret
he ‘ain’t seen a tory he likes much yet

‘cos…. ‘eeeeees…… aaaaaaaa

lovely lil’ lurcha from Pimlico
acts like a bear, sounds like a crow
I phoned up Crufts – did they want him? (NO!)
a lovely lil lurcha from Pimlico

so

pick yer scabs
lick yer arse
focus on the crocus in fits n’starts
raise yer leg
pee n’ poo
put the WC in WC2

caaaahhhhs eeeees aaaaaaaaa

lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn
sleeps all day on the undergrahn
riding the escalators up n’dahn
a lovely lil’ lurcha from Lon…DIN TAAAAAAAAAHHHHNNNNN

(cough)

Fanks a lot.
Fanks.
Please. No more biscuits – me collar’s gettin’ tight

tailgators

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I got a big car I’m better than you
Lexus, Audi, BMW
you’re a slob, I’m a striver
you’re too slow I’m an early arriver
penile missile carbon fibre
it’s the angel of whizz the flyin’ insider
fast n’furious hot wheels driver
smarter n’harder than a hadron collider
yo – miss daisy
yer dinosaur riding’s driving me crazy
yer’ grasp of fast terminally hazy
pull over yer wonky wanky wazey
if you’re Walt Disney I’m Scorsese

I got a big car I’m better than you
Porsche, Ferrari, Subaru
if you can’t stand the heat stay outta the lane
your speed awareness drives me insane
you’re giving me serious pedal pain
you sniff magic trees I’ll snort cocaine
your failure to drive gives my brain a pain
don’t make me accelerate and flash you again
yo – chief
give us alpha movers relief
that’s me in the corners grindin’ my teeth
your gutless gear change’s beyond belief
if I don’t overtake you’ll undertake grief